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Prose Poetry Funny Poems | Prose Poetry Poems About Funny

These Prose Poetry Funny poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Funny. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Funny poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Prose Poetry | |

She read me Dr Seuss

6:35 A.M.

Sunrise against my neck
that no cheap tan booth could ever match.

I ring the doorbell in anticipation of joy’s injection.

I needed it.

Because I left my cell phone in the car,
as I didn’t want to hear any chimed email
or text annoyances.

And the car just got cleaned,
only for the birds to have their way
on its waxy shine.

Bastards!

Time to grab the flamethrower from my trunk!

But, before I could scream in Braveheart declaration,
there she was.

Her 6 yr old smile,
made of 1/4 inch gaps between innocence enamel,
captured me like no other could.

“Tio”, she preached in angelica sonata.

As she held me,
held me,
with puppy love warmth.

Even the rainbows fell to its knees.

She took off my jacket with ferret-like perkiness and
asked me to sit on the floor with her.

But, not before offering to toast me some Eggo waffles
with a big glass of Ovaltine…
…in her Little Mermaid glass,
proudly made in North Korea.

It even had the dictator’s initials and a bucktooth smiley face stamp, signed in glitter
that said:
“Kid-safe”.

Thank God I just took my online course in Child Safety.
I was ready!

As I sip on Little Mermaid’s curves,
shaped in plastic, swirly straw weirdness,
a sound blasts off from a Barbie radio.

My 2 yr old angel galloped into this heart of mine,
with Tinnitus piercing scream & laughter,
tackling me in Incredible Hulk lunge.

“Hi Tio”, she whispered, before she hopped back upstairs, 
Ninja Turtle-style,
laughing maniacally with rapid head tilts, left to right to left.

Boys will fear her. 
And I couldn’t be more proud.

After two moments of silence, 
my 6 yr old angel places her Dr. Seuss book on my lap,
as she sits in front of me.

“I can r-r-read
with my eye-s
shut.”

She carefully completed the sentence,
as my eyes instantly fill with leaky pride
and an ingrained smile.

10 minutes later, she shut her book and asked me how she did.
“I am so proud of you my angel.”
“You have come so far.”

I had to hold back tears because I didn’t want to throw her off.
Yet I think she knew,
because she kept her head down and smiled with gentle starburst.

Mission accomplished.

And it was then where I heard her say,
“Those who matter don’t mind,
those who mind don’t matter.”

But she was quiet, looking at me with tilted head & smile.

For it was my inner child, 
speaking
clear.

© Drake J. Eszes


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lucila

So I walked into my local supermarket
to buy my weekly shipment of Kit Kat bars,
Cinnamon Toast Crunch,
and Ovaltine powder mix.

As I shake off the snow on my fake Timberland boots,
my skin,
coated in frozen animation,
thaws into warmth’s teardrops from
the supermarket’s 75 degree vents.

This moist sense of happiness was quickly interrupted
when I heard Wilson Phillips, “Hold On”
over the PA system.

Thankfully, the cutlery isle was just to my left. 
So, now, I had plans!

But, before I could commit felony’s song,
I saw her.

A Portuguese goddess
with a strut that can ruin a man’s dignity.

She had Autobahn curves,
dark brown curls of hair & visuals,
and thick flesh meat that even Vegans would envy.

Her face lacked Maybelline coated misapprehension.
Thank God!
Cause I never did like clowns.

After staring longingly at her,
like a crack head with impulsive eyes upon a broken/unlabeled bag of baby powder,
she breezed past my stifled posture and clocked in to work.

She didn’t even get a chance to smell my $500 cologne called “Piece of Me”.

So with new-found urges to grab all my groceries,
like a burglar who really has to pee,
I rush to express checkout. 

There she is.

Her register beeps in coupon lady’s rhapsody,
while my register needs a cleanup on Isle 9.

Now it’s my turn.

With girlish inner-screams of boy-band intensity,
I say, “Hi”.

She scans my apples, while I scan her melons.
The melons that the customer ahead of me didn’t want…
…they were on sale.

Go fig.

As if she read my mind,
she asks,
“Are you feeling warm now?”

“All I want is to be the heat in your moment”,
which I almost said.

But, “Now I am”, is uttered.

As she smiled with seductive demure,
she handed me my receipt
with her phone number on back.

As I left the market,
I began to get cold again.

These winds of change
became gusts of numbness.

I locked myself out of my heart.

I turned around to go back inside.

Only to discover, 
she didn’t have the key.

© Drake J. Eszes


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Ignoramus: Who Is Not Far From Being A Fool

When everyone goes east, he heads west to him, every dialogue is a contest comes into an interaction as the biggest then leaves agonisingly as the lowest. When he speaks, you know he is half-honest even though he truly knows, but not near the best. He always end up lost in the forest this simple fact, he cannot digest. The moment he shamefully fails the test he begins to manifest then becomes far from being modest and everyone around him, he treats like unwanted guests. Causing a general unrest as he unnecessarily protest. All over his countenance, ignorance crests not accepting defeat, he holds high his egocentric chest. Quick to make jest but correction; he equates to incest and disagreements, he always detest. We all have the quest to know and share the latest so as to add value to ourselves and self-invest which can be a cultivation to future harvest. But knowing it all is impossible and knowing half, believing to know all is ridiculous. Admiting not to know it all is the fairest but this is yet not comprehensible to him, to whom; to know is like a conquest. The wise keep quiet lest, they cause him to become the tempest and with every word, he neutralizes any palatable zest. Oh poor child! change or you'll suffer from everlasting molest where no one wants to visit your nest not because you are unblest but cos of the truth of your infest which now, is obviously clearest. It is good to learn my child and sharing is an attribute of Love. But run away from half baked lines or be humble enough to listen while they become fully whole. You were given two ears and one mouth hence talk less and listen more because an Ignoramus is always not far from becoming a fool!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Who

I stepped out on my lawn tonight
To catch a breath or two
Of cool night air when with a blare
An Owl questioned "Who?".

"Well, it is I", was my reply
"And now, just who are you?"
Then in a short he did report 
Again with that same "Who". 

"You", I said, "Is who", I said
With some authority
"Now who are thee, up in that tree?"
And "Who" again said he. 

"Oh! Now I see, when uttered thee
From high up in that tree
'Who' was thy introduction
And not a question be. 

So, Who is you and I am me. 
I'm glad we talked this out. 
Come again my feathered friend
You're welcome here about."


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Camp Anawana (An Ode to 20-somethings' Nostalgia)

Sometimes I can't believe it
It all happened so fast
Real life is truly here
Just who is that looking at me in the mirror?
How come these bills are addressed to my name?
It's like I went to sleep and woke up
And I'm all grown up

Sometimes I miss the days
When your crush had cooties, not STDs
And afternoons were spent climbing trees
And it's hard to grasp our age
Who's that man calling you "his wife"?
How come that little girl just called you Dad?
It's like I went to sleep and woke up
And we're all grown up

Sometimes the kids today
Make me feel so old when they say
They've never heard of Kurt Cobain
But I know that we're better
Cause we could fix our Nintendo in just one blow
And we all figured this out sans Twitter
It's like I went to sleep and woke up
And I'm all grown up

I remember the stupid things
Pogs and Goosebump books
Playlists were mixtapes on cassettes
And Friday nights meant TGIF on ABC
Nickelodeon was our only obsession
Friend requests were made in person
And they still showed music videos on MTV
It's like I went to sleep and woke up
And it's a different world - Nothing's the same
Cause we're all grown up


Details | Prose Poetry | |

CHANGED MY Underwear,------- and My Name

I
change my name 
like 
underwear...
fairly often, I suppose

I 
change my clothes 
like 
area codes
and Imma' damn gypsy, ya' see

I 
keep it fresh ta' death
nada
speck of blood
or 
ketchup on my attire

I 
got more rhymes 
than I got grey hairs
and 
that's an effing lot
because i got my share

I 
digg a 
hot-fire piece of passionate verse
those are 
indeed 
rare to find

YET...
if  only poets would 
unleash the fury 
instead of 
holding back
what's really 
on their mind...

I must say...
the library, 
the internet, 
the etc. etc...
would be a less stinky place...
AND, maybe 
I'd keep my name, and sever ties with 
underwear's elastic,
and just go 
APE-Spit Spastic!~


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I'm Not Five

I was going to jump on the bed at midnight
While she slept to wish her a happy birthday.
But she looked so asleep and it was so quiet.
I did it anyway because it's funnier to go through with it.
It's not like I'm throwing a nerf ball at her head.
So I get my knees on the bed and hop up-and-down
And "whisper-yell," "happy birthday happy birthday."
And she's not upset, in fact, she's giggling. 
And she whispers to me that she loves me.
I whisper to her that I love her, too.
And I leave the room with the bed
I just jumped and sang on.
And I'm 32.
I mean it's not like I fell off the bed
While jumping and hurt my head.
And made an owie.
I'm not 5.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

OXYMORON Newsflash:

"EARLY TONIGHT, according to HEAR SAY, things got PRETTY UGLY when a SINGLE GROUP of HELLS
ANGELS became SIMPLY IMPOSSIBLE to control during an ALL OUT MINOR CATASTROPHE at the
MICROSOFT WORKS sponsored MEXI-CALI JUMBO SHRIMP Festival“.


(in a strange way, this type of wishy-washy lingo reminds me of our lovely National news)


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Peaches

Peaches 

I feel so loved tonight....by you.
Honey,
I sing to you.
And you say how good my voice is.
I tell you funny stories,
That are funny only to me,
You laugh so politely.
That's how I know you love me....


Details | Prose Poetry | |

An OD Pen

That pen just lies there on the pale white blank pad page__no activity; that sorry pen has O D on something dangerous_passed out_hardly breathing..Come on pen sit up_here sip on this strong coffee..That's it click, look around, life is active, inviting_write it down..Come on now_here eat up of these grits and red-eyed gravy; now that is an eye opener..You've slept through the last rose of summer that was deep burgundy long stemmed on the bush.  You missed that lucious kiss under the pale pink rose  that on the trellis grows.  Winter is coming on, sober up, get busy for you missed the Hummingbird sip nectar from the Wild Petunia then fly away leaving hundreds of Yellow Butterflies to get intoxicated upon its blooms..So you say you are awake now..Here let me kiss you beautiful ink flowing 'pon the page!


I think my pen OD on chocolate though!!!

Sponsor: Joann Grisetti
Contest: Drunken Pen Round 2


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Where The Branches Stop Moving

"All is life. There should be no judgement."
"It is if you are at the foot of the Golden Palace 
                shouting at people that are continents away 
                to follow you, but they can't hear you, 
                much less see you and know where you are.
We're all among palaces, life is our creation."
"How can they re-create life?"
"Look down the river, where the wind stops, 
                See, see where the branches stop moving?"
"Yes."
"The creation is in the stillness."
"Nonsense."

(Silence.)

"Where are the fault lines?"
"We've re-created them."

(Silence.)

"And now count the many secrets we suddenly reveal to ourselves!"

(Silence.)

"I should take you to a NASCAR race."


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Thoughts from the Mind of a Blogger


It was a chilly morning in paradise...

Autumn was already here...

A time for strange things to happen, as it is that time of year...

She was up most of the night, doing a write....

Regarding some hubs and her series titled "Legend of Fred "

Ahh the questions she had... rolling around in her head..

Were “where were her readers, her followers “ her Hubbers...?

They had all seemed to like what she wrote in the past..

But lately her hubs were falling so fast....

She had written articles on health and life..

perhaps she had targeted too much strife...

Maybe they wanted to read about food..

But when you're not a cook, that would be kinda rude..

Oh, will wonders never cease ?

So she decided she'd get some zzzzz's

She lay in her bed, not moving at all...

but breathing quite deeply, as I saw the covers fall...

So I stretched my muscles and walked ever so slow..

So as not to wake her , then I spied her big toe..

Sticking out from the blanket..it was such a temptation..

And with me having such a" foot fixation".. however...

She needed the rest , so she can finish her quest..

I have some thoughts of my own...

that I would like to share in a poem..

And I would be happy to help her.. but..

I don’t think the world is ready for me...

as I am a BLOGGING CAT.. you see

So I will close for now...everyone have a great week...as

I'm off to seek something that has a tweak and a squeak..


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Lawyer Envy

(The writing exercise was to choose three poetry cliches and make them fresh)
(back stabber, after my own heart; and a soul of discretion; maybe more...)

He was a back stabber
After my own heart
Meek and sleek and sneaky
He wormed his way in
And 'innocently' uncovered
State secrets
Private tales
Skeletons in closets
They were all fair game

He was a back stabber
Not to be trusted
But had 
Such a sweet smile
That promised a soul of discretion
It was too easy to believe him
It felt good to trust him

He pulled his victims in
And it wasn’t until the court case
Was over
And the jury voted for him
Again
That you realized he was a back stabber

He pulled it off with such panache
And charm
You had to admire the guy
Even while you staunched your blood

I wish – oh I wish
I had his skills
He was a back stabber
After my own heart


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Missing Mouth

On a warm Thursday morning
my mouth leaped off my sleepy face and eluded 
my messy apartment.

It went absent for years.
All the “missing” signs with $100 dollar rewards
did not pay off.

So I had to cope with people’s kind aid.
They ate off my food bite by bite,
verbalized what was on my mind,
and smiled instead of me.

It was awful being lipless.
The joys that came with my mouth were suddenly omitted, like:
Leaving smooches on people’s cheeks.
Laughing, (when I wanted to.)
Centering pouts to my foes.
Smiling to strangers.

Until one day, while reading the morning paper
the headlines said that a mouth had been found
lost.
So I went to the center where they said my mouth was
being taken care of.

When I got there I was flabbergasted with
what the Dentist had told me.
“Your mouth needed a leash,
that voiced tongue and
intimidating full set of teeth.
So we plucked out some of its fangs.
Oh, and its Wise teeth too.
You know all the commotion genius could do…” 

I frowned.
“And that vindictive tongue! Would
not keep silent. It screamed poems 
about licking society-inflicted wounds,
self-righteousness, individuality,
and those crazy things. So we chopped that
off too, until it could no longer sing.” 
he spoke with a hiss in his 
voice.

“I am proud to say that this is our 
greatest work so far.
Maya, you are finally healed.
This mouth was going to get you into a lot of trouble, young lady.
Now, would you like your mouth back?”

I shook my head with disapproval,
gushed into tears and stormed home.
I let my mouth go and set it free.
What use would a speechless mouth
have been to me?


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Symbiosis

"Each experience is locked within my heart and only I hold the key..."

“Dad, I’m going to straighten your closet for you,” 
my wife said as she set upon the task of pulling out his 
clothes and refolding and re-hanging each item.
“I have to go to the John.” was his reply.
“OK, you go. Need help?” she asked him.
“No.” Into the bathroom he went.
Immediately out he came again.
“Can you help me with my pants?”
“Sure dad, there you go.”
Back in again but leaving the door wide open this time.
She closed it and went back to the closet.
“Why don’t they put his things back the way they should go?”
Fold, hang, arrange.
“Dad are you OK in there? Do you need help?”
“No. Can you come in and help me with my pants?”
“Dad, you have them on backwards.
That’s why you can’t find the zipper. Here let me help.”
Out they both come. 
A successful mission.
“What do you think of your closet now?”
“Wow! I have the best looking closet in the whole place.”
“Yes you do. I’m going to talk to them about keeping it that way.”
Out the door she goes. 
A new purpose. 
Making things better for her dad.
“She’ll give them hell,” he said to me.
We watched the news for a while and then he got up.
He went to the closet and pulled out some clothes.
After unfolding them and looking at them he stuffed them back in.
Not in the right place. 
He sat down and smiled.

Tony Lane
A Fragment Of Life contest
Written 8/20/11


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I could smell you all damn night

When I wake up

You are on my mind

As many of you as there is

A good you is hard to find

Sometimes you are cold

And sometimes you are weak

But often you are warm

Strong and at your peak

Sometimes you look large

And sometimes you look small

But often you're the perfect size

Not too short, and not too tall

Your scent is sexy, oh so rich

I could smell you all damn night

But instead I will just taste you

And you'll fill me up just right ;)

 

Love you forever coffee :) xx


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Fire

The loud knock
Seemed to bring the night
To an abrupt end
And though
Her lips were wet and sweet
A voice he did not recognize
From the other side of the door
Urged both of them
To leave as quickly as possible
As the fire drew nearer
To their home
He had come so close
To having her stay the night
One might say
It was a sad case
Of premature evacuation


Details | Prose Poetry | |

You

Every day just this time I wait for you with full zeal From my window to look you, To watch you. Because your presence Helps to make a radical change Within a few minutes in our Sultry environment, The fair beauty. I became impatient to look you And you came. You came like a tuber rose, Just unfolding her petals. Your dazzling white teeth Helps to make much attractive Your famous bit of smile. The vernal breeze often Try to remove the scurf skilfully From your prominent bosom And you often try to fix it. A premature tinny boy Trying to attract your attention, See your reddish eyes, seems You want to stroke his head-quarters. Uncle John has a peculiar habit Embrace an young girl. Your quick depart proves He is near-by.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Sing of Turtle Doves

I am painting pictures of things unseen,and of places I have never been. I am painting masterpieces with my pen,and I sing of Turtle Doves.I Sing songs of things I know not of...Bellowing words of love. Gleeful greetings,I send out, of things which I know not about. To someones heart long ago an Englishman aimed his love... So I sing of Turtle Doves,and leaping lords.
 I have never seen a Partridge nor do I have a pear tree. Yet I Sing the words every year Wholeheartedly.Two Turtle Doves. Three french hens ...and a Partridge in a Pear tree. I even sing of the"Swimming Swans."My favorite part is when you get to hold that note."Five Golden Rings." Then you start  again...               
                         
End Poem


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Someone Clue Me In

Somebody clue me in
Why oh why must this women toy with my emotions,
Once again dear lord why oh why does the phone keep ringing
And chicks call and hang up, I have gutting to the point I can tell what type
Of day they had by the way the phone ringing’s and hit the dial to hang up

I don’t what to say anything blasphemy or even out of character but even
A man has his breaking point, this is not another teen movie or sequel or even prequel
But I did not know I knew so many woman in till I got on facebook took two and half years
To clear up clarification of what was said and what  was  facts and fact is we was just friends nothing 
More Right all right …

Last twenty days I have gotting calls from a colordo spring company, Burbank CA, Albant Or,
Hudson,Fl, Hartwell Ga and who in the world does a fund raiser an nine clock on a Sunday,
You Should name the fund raise the “Unity Front” I know I been told all woman hate me or was
You just flirty I cant tell so cruel and ususally, why call from 0-0-0-0 number and pick up the second time 
and keep call me madma then call the next fifteen mintues and then I get a recording “saying goodbye”
This is not “Shaun of the dead”
This is not another teen movie but” Jason is my nickname” so how far do you want go?
But please don’t bus out my window glad my mom sold my car she didn’t bus out the windows of my car
Is the music effecting your behavior?

If you don’t know now you know I got call id, call waiting, speed dial, and the call that pop up
On the tv. And if you seen the "Big Hit" I got the bust buster buster do you know what that even is?
I get it I’m a nice guy too nice most men first call they get they said the first thing that comes to mind I 
wonder what word that is?,

And for the record I am not a celeb yet I might of spoken to a few
 here and there don’t even know 
How they know me truth be told I don’t have a dime to my name don’t seem like I going break the 
Bank anytime soon but yet I keep getting twitter invites borgobaby- love don’t live here any more life goes on.

Yes Sir, but for the record my fare lady oh im sorry my fare ladies I am not a player, 
Gentlemen a tier.
But once again my nickname is Jason so game over, the wait is over
and I must say I adore woman to the 
Fullest extension but love don’t live here anymore once more and 
I don’t what to play games like most 20 something 30 is acoming and sound more cool then “not 
between but tween” “not alright but all right all right all right”
and “absolutely”, “ 4up 4 down tip top” don’t for get I came up with most this "clinches" in 09’
But I choice to stay anonymous speaking of anonymous FedEx call at twelve where is my packages? 
Woman I don’t understand someone clue me in?
"A Poet and Still Running"


Details | Prose Poetry | |

World of Games

There are many types of games, 
Which are payed by Bond James. 

The games are also types of arts, 
Like the interesting game of Darts. 

Games are also called as toys, 
Which are played by girls and boys. 

Some games are very easy, 
But human beings are always busy. 

There is a game named cricket, 
Which is full of runs and wicket. 

The international competition of games is called Olympics, 
Which are played by using many tricks. 

Playing games will be more fun in Future, 
Because every human being will Mature. 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

TIME

Tick tack  on the wall,
Knocking all the wall,
Scaring us all,
Muscling the muscles,
Muscling the morsels in us,
Quickening the finest deep,
The hidden gold of gold,
A dignity of labour,
How loyal and diligent you are,
Precious and precarious,
Dangerous and conspicuous.
TIME !!TIME!!TICK TACK!

Running without waiting for anybody,
How impatient could man be,
In your sound you keep man,
In haste at everydawn,
Thou hath in the haste of full dawn,
Desperately desperate,
Anxiously anxious,
Wisely wise are we and you
Preciously precious,
Nothing can be done without you that's obivously obvious.
TIME !!TIME!!TICK TACK!


We chose to choose you,
Working to work with you,
Falling to fall with you,
No time no food,
No time no suite,
No time no cheat,
No time no shift,
No time no me,
there is set time for everything,
Mama use to say,
Patience is virtue of time,
that's the way whichever way.
TIME !!TIME!!TICK TACK!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

How Did Santa Claus Broke The Reindeer Back

How Santa Claus broke the reindeer back

I am just disappointed he is such a play ball; he refuses to joined the community gym, he have no consideration for a hard working reindeer like me. Please do us all a favor and stop telling everyone that you’re tall and slim Mr. Claus
Santa put this in your pipe and smokes it. I am forming a union; you can contact my Lawyer Mr. Tin Tin

 I need some Fringe benefits else I am going to quit; year after year after year I chauffeur you around
This is not a smooth ride on green grass, it’s cold, cold snow “please looked around.
Breaking into people houses late at night, dropping off toys, we are plaster on every walls and poles
Santa this reindeer is off radar; you get off your fat ass or hire Casper the friendly ghost.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Pith II

Writing is vanity,
except in the bathroom,
where vanity lies beneath,
and is replaced up top
by a truth-telling device
called a mirror.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

My In Heritage

To know your history is to know your literature a lesson to learn, which will Stand the test of time and what one founds of their in heritage no matter how enduring and grim it may seem it something you should embrace- I came from a small city with big roots and routinely I was ask “where are you from”, especially from girls, if it wasn’t that it he thinks he cutie? And I’m asking why I would say something like that. Or He thinks him smart, God!!! I’m just answer the teacher question? But when I got older, older woman told me they probably think that ascent was sexy and I’m thinking where in high school what do they know about sexy? Man is her computer seat warm? America woman I just don’t understand them? I wonder what they do if they heard me speak a few difference language at same time? Thank god I’m quite because it not like they can read my mind. But it got me thinking from and questioning My Roots- What I found was the name Borgo had many difference Ethnicity & meaning with it as well as nationalities and that Borgo is Small Island between France and Italy. And if history may not mention it was a Borgia who captured Napoleon? How do I know where did it take place? BorgoBaby- No wonder I like Caribbean woman and it is this one that get my heart beat beating up to 400 beats per seconds if that is possible I can’t say it is a forbidden love but what I will say is breaking the ice and melt when think out loud? And yes she knows my name but why ask not why but why are some lyrics so deep my dear? Remember some old friends asking don’t you make beats? As I have some bread and tea. And that Bourbon is a drink, a Pecan Pie and a Street I’m thinking man if I have girlfriend What date it would be- Then I dig deeper and found the prime sources that seem to let to these events the Borgia or borja married into royalty which happen to be Louisa Borgia who married Philp De Bourbon or Philip V of Spain. He was rejected as King Louis legitimate son because born out of wedlock but later accepted but Philp never forgave and where he could have been both king of France and Spain he was just the king of Spain. Question I ask do any one know today the real reason why France has no nationality? Hurtfully to write or hear but i heritage mean full name as should other take to one, I have heard rumors that true bloodlines of nations of Kings that don’t rightfully take the throne it is a reason for that but not my place to say the way history is written is just to say to remember men wrote history but literature holds another tell? Who can tell the differences, but one question for god I always ask Why so much war my lord, I truly feel like a man without a country and Just walking away- I myself never came from money I start literally from nothing but as I got older I was given legitimate connection legitimate ideas and principals and the understanding of wealth but so trying of spending night and days with no day off of a seven day week wonder if I can make those principals work for me as sick as I am there are reason undefined why I do this things and money is not the endorsement my life is more complication then eye may receive to capture but if you listen you learn more than just hand written if you get the drift- I was never told of my in heritage put as one will it something like a scare or tattoo I had to found to adjust to my nick name is “Jason” but my full name is Louis Antonio Borgo III as I’m about to fall to sleep and lost all aim of conscience I see a email with my full name spell out in Ancestry.com question how did they know I was search for them and if I ever be accepted from this other half as I am a man literally without a country and in love with French woman more than American the phone rings and a woman from Canada called speaking French I drop the phone and finally I fall to sleep and As I sleep dreaming could anyone imagine wanting to go home but where? Remembering the ringing noise of girls ask ” where are you from”...


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Listen Kristin

Just go to search. memb er poetry. "Bad Day at the Eye Doctor's" and it will pop 
up.
This is a true tale, and one of my dumbest stunts.


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LA Doggy Style

 
Pug noses in designer hoodies 
Wicker baskets on beach cruisers 
Leather sofas doggy devoted 
Grooming parlors and pet hotels 
Best pooch in wedding tux 
Nip and tuck, no more nuts 
Hollywood glitz for puppy shitz 
LA doggy style
Westside!


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Restrictedtoo

Misspelled words and drawn remarks lend palatable distinction to the AIR surrounding this poems. The meaning of a word takes from the birth of the word as of a noun then applied in a misdirection as the adverb or worse the verb herself. Never in the outrage of this history of mankind will this poetry be repeated in this repetitive manner as this repititious drivel indicates. The person who pens these odious smears at justice is not human. No mere mortal could diatribe the snow or crucify a flower in the manner of a flouted lout outside the relm of possiblitites. Eye suggest to the reader ewe not to waste your time your very valuable bean time in a vain attempt at deciphering elements long non descript and void unless related to Poetry or forced to give Critique.


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A Childs Concept

There was a little girl 
barely more than three.
She went for a ride
to the country one Sunday
with her family.

She laughed and laughed
with glee
at all the animals
that she could see.

Then she spotted
something that before
She had not seen.

Now from the back seat
came the cry
UTS DAT  MOMMIE !!
UTS DAT !

There in the field was 
a tractor and a wagon.
Her mother told her what 
it was and all fell quiet.

Being that it was about nap time
and she was quiet for so long
they thought her asleep.

Suddenly     
a cry rang out 
from the back seat.

aaahh !!!  A Twagon !











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Restricted

Perhaps on hind sight they may decide to add more time they may fix the presets to make them open they may even be more user friendly but they missed it for the first time around how can you pretend to knoeledge when you hoard it when you keep it from the whole crowd and dish it out with the silver spoon as pablum carping in a stream. Refusing to be sane and safe you LORD it over otheres no Lord no power in your hand but the gang like backing of the others of your kind insisting on rules that neither help or edify the group you seem intent on making a world of non believers full of sin and queerness restricted in the use of all equipment not needing more than querulous food fed inthevieniously overhead of all the smarter ones never will agree this is exactly what it look likes this attempt at poetry is a poor ensample of a poor example of a poor man attempting poetry. In other word the man attempting to convey to the reader a poor understanding.


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FOXTAIL TRAILS

BY LYDIA BRESCIA JULY 2011


FOXTAIL TRAILS

THE GENTLE WIND TOUCHES FOXTAILS OUTLINING THIS COUNTRY ROAD.
THEY GLISTEN WITH SUNLIGHT POINTING OUT A DIRECTION YET UNTRIED.

LIFE BECKONS LIKE THAT, TO THE UNBEATEN PATH, TO SEE IF WE GET BY
GENTLE URGES ARE TAPPING US, TO SEE IF WE CAN DROP OUR WORRIES AND FLY
.
FOXTAILS HAVE A BAD REP. THEY COME IN SOFT N GREEN, GLIMMERING IN THE SUN
AND BURN, PRICKLY IN THEIR OLD AGE. 

NEXT THING YOU KNOW AN UNSUSPECTING ANIMAL HAPPILY GOES BY AND FOXTAIL JUMPS AND HITCHES A RIDE!  THE ANIMAL STOPS AND THUMPS UPON ITS’ RUMP 
TO SCRATCH THAT FOXTAIL AWAY…WHEREUPON THAT FOXTAIL BURROWS IN THE GROUND TO SLEEP AND DREAM OF ITS’ ONE WONDERFUL RIDE!.  

IN THE SPRING A SOFT GENTLE RAIN AWAKENS FOXTAIL   FROM  ITS’ DREAM,  IT GROWS AND GROWS AND POINTS  IT’S TOES AND STICKS ITS’ HEAD IN THE WIND !

BY LYDIA BRESCIA JULY 2011


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118

 118 
118 
 
 
CharlaXFabels 
 
AprilFooley 
 
 Is tomorrow the end of March or the beginning of April April one or March 32 the 
way to approach the online scenario is to make it seem to be true. Associated 
Press AP: The Government in a brief memo enacted a new presidential law 
bringing the March 32 a new day into the light of day. The President of the United 
States declared leap year over null and voided. Here is the words of the transcript 
from the Whitehouse: This is President Bush talking "Eye am certain all we ever 
had to do was add a day on the end of a month when we need to in the year they 
used to all call leap year year. March now has the end of the month the April 
starts after the March 32 has come." End of quotation. The Democrats in Georgia 
have declared WAR upon the United States "we believe it to be wrong to take 
away leap year is bad enough but to add a day to MARCH is madness." The 
press corp at the Whitehouse is for once speechless. The day of the end of 
March will be celebrated all over the nation with the observnace of the Marching 
Bands of America. Send money via PayPal to Box 666 Mountain Verne 
Washingtonia, D.C. For the hearing impaired we have prepared a phonetic 
version of this message. March 32. Mahrrch Thirtee Twuu. In DRY counties of 
Arkansas this day will fall on April 1, 2008. The subdivisions housing in the 
Indian Reservations in Oklahoma will be left out. No one in Central Asia may 
observe it. Lets go LIVE to the White house to ask a question of Mrs. Bush. What 
will you do Barbara? The First Lady is unavaliable for comment. This is highly 
unusual. We remain speechless. The new day falls on a Tuesday this year and 
April 1, 2008 is on this Wednesday. All of you are April fools.


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January 1st

Relieving myself
After a long night
I smiled a bit
Thinking
I havent peed
Since last year!


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I Don't Give A Damn About Your Hair

It is a pretty morning.
Sun is breaking through.
Moon is setting in the west
My mind begins to think of you.
.
I'm sipping on my coffee
Would you like a cup?
We can watch the sunrise
Before our dogs wake up.
.
Let me hold your hand
Look into your in eyes.
Say how much I love you
As the sun brightens up the sky.
.
Your reflection upon a moonbeam
Is something to behold.
But with a ray of sunshine
Your true beauty does unfold.
.
Your smile is still enticing
Though your hair is still a mess.
Your eyes still have a twinkle
I think now you look the best.
.
I love you cause your beautiful.
I love you for you care.
I love it when you miss me.
I love it what we share.
.
Your heart is such a warm place.
I'm so glad that I am there. 
The way that you make love to me
I don't give a damn about your hair!!!


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A Silly Poem

I saw a little bird sitting in a tree,
I could see him he could see me,
He pecked at an apple and sang,
And through woods his song rang,
Happy he had anther little peck,
I smiled as the apple went down his neck,
It flapped its wings but did not fly,
He watched another bird float by,
He turned around and did a dance,
So I did the same just by chance,
We both waltzed around the tree,
I flapped my arms he laughed at me,
A man was watching close by
He asked if he could join in and try,
So two men and a bird wriggled,
A woman joined in and she jiggled,
Another woman and her pet,
She was good the best yet,
Then everyone in the park,
Strutted their stuff until dark,
As each left they gave a wave,
It's my first time at a rave.


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Puss In Boots

I loved it
When she walked naked
Into the bedroom
Only wearing
Her hiking boots
Kind of reminded me
Of a children’s
Bedtime story
… Well… sort of


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The Writers Tail liaT sretirW ehT

The Writers Tail liaT sretirW ehT
by Charles Robert Hice on Wednesday, November 28, 2012 at 12:22pm ·
The Writers Tail
the poor writer can not post a poem anywhere to be recognized himself as a poet unless he writes a longish Devels tail complete with hooks and forks and splitting hoofs and tines in tomes you realize these publishers drink large amounts of alcoholic beverages and seek people to turn down they love to see someone saying homeless poems the frown and then the delete button when will they come to some conclusion that the ether thinking is the faulty mind life is better lived poor and sober how can any one help others to be someone iff they are drunk feet upp on the ottoman ice clinking against the windows and the glasses always half full and half empty ready at any moment to delete all details of any poor peoples emails so you want to post in this magazine afraid knot click delete delete the extra page is missing the long appendage added on is gone they removed all of the appendix index we told you to send an attachment means a file a doc or a document eye tried to attach my soul to my heart but there just is no space is taken up one old woman no pets allowed someday every item that eye write will flash before my eye it will be broadcast on heavens wifi for all the angels there to read each dot and t is crossed there no time lost to read eye will post my items on the heavens wifi for all eternity you stupid people who cant publish me make photostatic copies of my work and glue them to the bottoms of your shoes and stomp them in the dirt you walk back and forth on your thrown rug down on the floor until you cannot see the words and then you toss them into doors threw cracks and howl with glee cause Johnny cannot read me YOU CARACKED MY READING GLASSES BROKE MY TEETH  AND MADE ME GASP FOR BREATH TO BREATHE now little Johnny cannot read. Three shoelaces to make two shoes how many feet does little Johhny use. This tale hath a tail like the INcan Comet of Destruction can you see it in the sky it will be there the day we die. HOT ROCKS FALLING FROM THE SKY the day before the world turned green and died. Here is the cannonical mathmatical equation now. Take the INfinite lights in the sky what they really seem to be and move them to the end of time try to see them falling down. Tumble to the sea my lasting problems will never get ahold of me to hurt me whan they tumble to the sea eye will be set free whan my lasting problems thay tumble to the sea


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Romantic


I thought
 She was just being
 Romantic
 When I asked her
 About the weekend
 And she said
 Niagara!
 
Now I realize
 She “was” being romantic
 And what she said
 Was… Viagra!
 


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Deja Vu

While speaking on the phone
She said
I’m having a Deja vu
Of talking to you and doing laundry
I replied
What kind of Deja vu
She said
Of talking to you and doing laundry


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Human Beings

Human Beings have many things, 
They drink milk and eat chocolaty silk. 

Human Beings are doctors and teachers, 
Human Beings are also cheaters. 

Human Beings have mobiles and phones, 
Phones also have many tones. 

Human Beings have shelter like house, 
Computer has only one mouse. 

Human Beings are afraid of ghost, 
They do breakfast of bread and toast. 

Human Beings are also hero, 
Aryabhatta has discovered zero. 

One day there will be the end of Human Beings, 
Who has discovered all the things. 


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JACK DANIELS

He stays smooth and strong for me to mingle

Though not quite enough to have a mere single

Sexy, dark, handsome and short

In his sweetness I find I am caught

I look over at the white's and I cringe

It has to be black if I'm going to binge

So I put him in my mouth and I swallow

And with that, I hope more of him will follow


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Trojan Horse

Black and white, in a line

Some are heavy, some are fine

Changing, creeping, cunning

Smoothly, quickly, running

Some are found, some are not

Isn't safe- destroy the lot

 

Poem written about a manual DOS scan to find Trojan virus ;)

 
My  brain is literally just full of poetry. I mean who the hell writes a poem about a Trojan while their computer is scanning?? Me.


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Dying Dreams

The young dream their dreams away at night

Hoping they come true

A doctor,policemen,veterinarian and other dreams are developed by the young

Too naive to understand the ways of the world

Determined as ever to achieve their dreams

The old regret the dreams they could never accomplish

They had dreams but unknowingly never came true

You go from living a world full of dreams

To living the reality that is life

Why do we let our dreams die

We were so excited as young kids

At the foot step of our dreams

Were we haunted by the mountain we had to climb

To make our dreams come true

Did we simply quit

Because of society’s pressure

Did money deter our dreams away while we slept at night

Did we let doubt creepy into our hearts

Silently killing all of our dreams without realizing it

Why do dreams die so quickly

When we spent years of our youth

Hoping that we could get an opportunity

To make them come true

Dream big, chase your dreams and never let them die


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BEHIND THE PYRAMID WITH RA AND NUT

      Let’s just call each other  Ra and Nut  ok?  
      No need to be formal here behind the pyramid.
      I tell you, Nut, I don’t mind having the job as top god  in Egypt.
      After all it’s better than being rain-god in this desert.  
      But those hieroglyphic guys spoil it all. I just don’t get no respect.

Tell me about it , Ra, they rain on my parade too
      
      Like, I’m supposed to be in charge of the sun,  right?
      (In Egypt that’s an easy job).  And I kinda like you as my granddaughter, Nut
      (no disrespect, but you  really  are a nut).  
      Man, this  body-of-a-human-and-head-of-a-falcon crap has  
      Slowed me down.   I can’t fly  - body’s too heavy,  not aerodynamic as they say;
      I can’t ogle the ladies -  those falcon  eyes are too unfriendly. . . . .   

Hey fella,  that beak kinda suits you. . . .  bet you can crack peanuts dead easy, right?
     
     Don’t interrupt the sun god ok?   So  I married Ratet  and we had a daughter Hathor,
     And you,  Nut,  are  a descendant  through  Hathor.
     By the way, it’s no wonder they call you Nut  -   with all that incest. 

Can I get a word in edgeways Ra?. . . . . . . . Yeah,   I got given the  craziest name - 
A  boy named Sue?  - Ok;   but a girl named Nut?!      I guess my god-job  is ok     
(I’m  in charge of resurrection and rebirth – and that’s a job for life.)
(Oh  c’mon. . . . . Joke there, Ra baby,  chill out  man.)    So  I  married  
My brother Geb ( almost as bad as marrying your dad. . . .don’t get me started)
But Ra you’re right, the hiero-guys spoil it.     They  draw me  with blue skin,  
with the body of a woman and the head of a cow.  I mean. . . .  a freakin cow!
     
      I’ve seen those drawings, I thought they were an improvement on reality.

Like, who can read a  line which goes  “cat man meets dog-bird and wheat-and-corns  
him along the road to a lion-ship in water with a blue starry cow? 
Those hiero-guys should’ve been sacked long ago. 
(They say the Greeks have sacked their hieros, and use alphabets).
     
     Sounds good,  Nut  (excuse me smirking when I use your name).
     And what the hell does ”falcon-head guy ogles red-sheep flower-girl”  suggest,
     Especially if she is “flying her chariot with two giant fish” at the same time? 
     No, I reckon those hiero-guys have gotta go. Get me the phone number of those 
     Greek alphabet geezers, will you, Nut  (smirk again). . . . . . No respect. . . . . . 


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Would you Marry Me


Would you like to date you said?
I would.
Would you oh could you let me kiss you just this once? 
If you must.
And will you take my hand in yours and let me hold it tight?
You may .
Many a days past by and it was in me to try again,
I did.
Would you marry me,  would you please
I will.
Would you be my wife and go where ever I go 
Maybe!
Would you have my children and bare with me awhile
DO YOU THINK i AM CRAZY?
Sheesh.


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Cinderella

Accidentally 
Knocking her down
He noticed
That her shoe
Had come off
Helping her up
He took the shoe
Placing it on her foot
Jokingly commenting
Look… it fits
What’s your name 
He asked smiling
With a twinkle in her eye
She replied
Cinderella


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Zen Buddhist Bird

A Buddhist bird flies 
Under the eyes 
Of winter’s sun 
As I watch his flight 
Across a lonely wintry sky 
Gazing up 
At his long, long flight south 

He diverts himself 
From the chilly northern wind 
A wind 
That the sun cannot warm 

He diverts himself 
With a single thought 
As only a Zen Buddhist bird might do 
And asks 

What is the sound 
Of one wing flapping? 
-------------------------------------------------------------------
"the sound of one hand clapping"...(by J. D. Salinger) Thank you Leo


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Finding My Pure Heart

All the violence on TV was probably not good for me
All the decapitated corpses on video games not the brightest idea for me
Life’s real dramas just frustrate me
All the fabricated television dramas annoy me
We all love a happy ending yet we consume the misery and pain of others
Haunted by life changing events
At times I just simply need to vent
Why be educated and humble when being ignorant and shallow brings you fame
Why save your virginity for marriage, when society’s sluts take all the good guys that a girl covets
Why be a nice guy, when all the respectable women settle for assholes yet are surprised when they are mistreated and cheated on
Why live a life down the correct path, when the wrong path is glorified and admired by society
Beneath the darkness and rubble of life exist the flickering white light of my once pure heart


Find more of my writings and poems at jorgesouthkorea.com


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SHAKE YOUR THING

you do this
i like you twist
give your risk
let swing
SHAKE 
YOUR THING


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Rough Day

Some days I feel I'm nearly crazy
Kids and chores so many, I become hazy
Motivation slides, no---then I'm just lazy.

While I gather my one thousandth drifting thought
I find I'm just a dreamer and bit of a cad who ought
Ought to be a poet of wisdom by many sought
But isn't it a tiresome job being a poet of nought.

No one for me hangs a big welcome banner
I'm aways the dependable one, especially on holidays
Hard working and expecting little praise
For my job well done "The Great Meal Planner."

So if you like to be a poet, making copies on your scanner
Juggling jobs, and tasks so many in a rediclous motherly manor
To feed all the pets, of which occasionally I appear as being a lion tamer
Well, you too may find someday nothing makes since, it all just makes one insaner.

Linda Terrell
November 11, 2009

Had a rough day today...


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YOUR FUNNY

you are delire
you lift my sprit
your a gas
you make laugh
being around you too
every day
you have become my honey
bunny
YOUR FUNNY


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Poets Resume -extraordinaire

                                                Poets Resume
                           Gimmie Job Johnny (poet extraordinaire) 
                           Address: Under the boardwalk - Down by the sea
                                         Near Tony’s Pizza
                                         Phone:     Call Tony.  He gots a phone
Summary:  Poet in need of money for pens and paper looking for you to pay me to read
books and drink coffee…..Don’t ask any questions!....I don’t like questions.

Experience:  I have a B.A. in books.  I have millions and millions of books…
Do you hear me!?  Millions upon millions of books!  Stop looking at me and gimmie money!

Additional Work Experience:
Executive Elevator Technologist            Dates: From: Monday 2/28/14   (10:00am) 
                                                                    To:     Monday 2/28/14   (2:00pm) retired

Job duties:  Elevator button pusher from 1st. floor to 5th. floor and related return trips 
at an executive office building of undisclosed location.

Additional Skills:  I like donuts and I like coffee so I thought about becoming a cop.

Supportive Education:

Home educated by mom and pop
Who told me I was nothing but a worthless flop
They hit me on the head with a two by four
Threw me out the door yelling, “Don’t come back no more!”
“Get a job you worthless fool!” “We told you what would happen, 
You useless tool, if you didn’t stay in school.” 
So I moseyed on down to the gasoline station
Told them about my situation
I never got the job cause I was over qualified
I’m going to be a poet as a compromise


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91

 91 
91 
 

CharlaXFabels 
 
 
 
23Skeedo 
 
This is a cliché. That's my name for an old aside or an adage here we go into the 
world of CharlaXFabels once more gentle reader ewe 23 Skeedo. 23 skidoo 
(phrase) 
 23 skidoo is an American phrase popularized in the early twentieth century, first 
appearing before WWI and becoming popular in the Roaring Twenties. It 
generally refers to leaving quickly, being forced to leave quickly by someone else 
or taking advantage of a propitious opportunity to leave, that is, "getting [out] while 
the getting's good." 
23 skidoo has been described as "perhaps the first truly national fad expression 
and one of the most popular fad expressions to appear in the U.S," to the extent 
that "Pennants and arm-bands at shore resorts, parks, and county fairs bore 
either [23] or the word 'Skiddoo.'" 
The exact origin of the phrase is uncertain. PHRASE. OH. Okay today we learn 
some old phrasers YOCK YOCK YUCK. All Wet - describes an erroneous idea or 
individual, as in, "he's all wet." This works better if you can remember the ABBOT 
bud and Costello lou he said an aweful lot of these phrases as everyday 
wordage. Abbott: Well Costello, I'm going to New York with you. You know Harris, 
the Yankee's manager, gave me a job as coach for as long as you're on the 
team. Costello: Look Abbott, if you're the coach, you must know all the players. 
Abbott: I certainly do. Costello: Well you know I've never met the guys. So you'll 
have to tell me their names, and then I'll know who's playing on the team. Abbott: 
Oh, I'll tell you their names, but you know it seems to me they give these ball 
players now-a-days very peculiar names. Costello: You mean funny names? 
Abbott: Strange names, pet names...like Dizzy Dean Costello: His brother Daffy. 
Abbott: Daffy Dean...Costello: And their French cousin. Abbott: French? Costello: 
Goofè. Abbott: Goofè Dean. Well, let's see, we have on the bags, Who's on first, 
What's on second, I Don't Know is on third...Costello: That's what I want to find 
out. Abbott: What? Costello: I said I don't give a darn! Abbott: Oh, that's our 
shortstop. 
http://www.baseball-almanac.com/humor4.shtml 


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Dear Rhoda

Long Island- my old home.  Thanks for the words.  tom bell


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LOOKING AT MY SPAM

LOOKING    AT   MY    SPAM


A guy with a busy-life like me has everything he could want, right at fingertips:
I can “stop snoring with a dentist-designed mouthpiece”
And can pay for it, after I “check  my credit rating on line”.
Everyone I know should offer me “Congratulations” [ because  I ]
“have been chosen to join the National Association of Professional Wrestlers”.
On the other hand my interests may lean towards the aesthetic:
And I could “learn at the University of Phoenix” until they award me 
“the Degree on-line of beautician and cosmetologist”.
As consolation, I "can also obtain 70% off all  [my]  Viagra needs”   - 
Never knew, but older guys tell me it’s a drug to help  ‘their health’.
Finally if the drugs and education can’t help, I can pursue
“Lawsuits for serious injury and compo” with those well-known
Ambulance chasers,  Messrs.  Ripoff,  Fleecem  &  Grabbit.

Maybe writing a poem about reading spam is itself a symptom
Of my empty life. . . . . . . . . I  really gotta get out more.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Seven-O-Two

I like to listen to Seven O Two at night
We can always count on Kiemo for a fight
If he was President for a day
He would insist on his own way

We could all be taking drugs
And the teacher could flog the thugs
White women he would send abroad
And pay himself if they could not afford

He brushes his teeth and sharpens his tongue
Then runs five miles to expand his lungs
There is no doubt that he can talk
But can he bring his taught to walk

Kiemo knows his constitutional law
Economics and politics without a flaw
Now all he has to learn to do
Tolerate the views of the dissenting few


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Eightynine

 Eightynine 
Eightynine 
 
 
CharlaXFabels 
 
FearsRelived 
 
FearsReleave 
 

Main Entry: relieved Function: adjective Date: 1850: experiencing 
or showing relief especially from anxiety or pent-up emotions 
— re•liev•ed•ly  \-ˈlē-vəd-lē\ adverb Relive One entry found. 
relive 
Main Entry: re•live   
Pronunciation: \(ˌ)rē-ˈliv\ Function: verb 
Date: 1548 intransitive verb 
: to live againtransitive verb: to live over again; especially : to experience 
again in the imagination Releave must be an adjective or mabe just a noun eye 
frown as some of my flock of followers must do at some of the spellings eye 
make of words that have been spelled this way for at least six years. Main Entry: 
reweave  Reweave can be found at Merriam-WebsterUnabridged.com. Reweave 
is the way ELMER GLUEALL says RELEAVE. OH FUDD. WAIT. Releave looks 
just like a real word does it not class. This is the reason we have school idint it 
so fun. Some professors get a case of nerves when something like this typo 
occurs but eye as a Lewis type teacher make inroads of nuances the words 
flowing in the desert places like oasis of stasis static ornaments near Colorado 
Boulder. There was this episode of Mork and Mindy where the EGG went flying 
and OH my it landed hard.  The memory gets better when you stop. Just give it 
some more time to regenerate the Christ is GOD. People are idiots in there 
dealings with other people. Scientific evident escaped the masses when they 
chose to witness to the escaping gases of the sublime whiskey beer farts given 
time they may recover the couches with upholsters from the hang over guns of 
the cowboy trudges. TO: the eviloushonist life is just a reactored accidental 
inflated accident. The worthless people who run the behind the scenes at the 
internet places aer too blame they aer too flaming strang. There is a 
misconcepting theorem that people do what other people think the truth is that 
people do the impossible things that no one does or even thinks of like getting 
up from a day of boredom and going on to see what finding means to see what 
living does. Please do not feel let down or depressed or put upon eye tired to 
make this fabel work without an idea of any kind without a premises without a 
forum places without much hope of even rhyme this thing is done this is quite 
enought for now please stay tuned and keep me ici and come back its 
SATURDAY the next one will be formed on SUNDAY when the author has more 
time. 



Details | Prose Poetry | |

Beauty Is In the Eye of the Beholder

Oh, was it really possible that we’d ever pen, or 
is it necessary to debate our in-sensitivities, 
the ups and downs of life, being sandwiched between
our likes and dislikes of a certain form in writing?

To a degree, of versifying, we have the so-called 
“To each his own” ability
and power to attract the readers of the mind,
to fully enjoy us, in our chosen form. 

Some would profess they dislike haiku
...’cos of its shortness and simplicity
and most likely, many would prefer free verse,
than to listen to the enchanted soul of rhyme

...’Cos of its un-metered style and absolute freedom;  
yet I, the handsome I (ahem!) do love, not prefer 
the beholder of my beauty, my beautiful wife (ahem!)---
a thousand times over, and greater than those few.

Ahh, the exquisite beauty of poetry, 
the subtle meaning half hidden 
in ones’ lines, and totally not seen in its form
but most certainly, lies in the eye of the reader.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Burlesque Bowl-Fish

"My mind was once the true survey,

Of all these meadows fresh and gay,

And in the greenness of the grass,

Did see its hopes as in a glass..."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 

Windswept village,

Ancient 1836,

Tornado torn,

Blasted to bits.

 

Here is the steeple,

Here is the bell,

Here is the clergy,

Hurried to hell.

 

Perception: paragraphed.

 

    Gracious gusts of air sliced through the saloon and side-swiped the sheriff, newly 
desert bound. The blacksmith, now inclined to move, found his organs strewn 
amongst a congregation of cacti. Somewhere in the busiest part of town, 3 iguanas 
regained their birth-home.

 

Desert;

Impatient tumbleweed,

Sole-searing sand,

A band of train robbers,

A lonely locamotive.

 

The charcoal smeared engine breathed gun-smoke. 3 men, wild-eyed from birth, 
filled burlap sacks with yellow shapes, shiny prisms, aurum, gold bars- money. They 
were wearing greed, 50 pounds heavier in offensive sunshine. Miraculously, it took 
them 20 seconds to escape to the southernmost point of Death-Valley. The robbery 
and the escape were a success, but the men were dead: they were tornado-
transported.

 

Studescent schoolhouse,

Sleepy seminars:

 

Murderous math,

Luminous literature,

Romantic religion.

 

Guillotine glass,

Wind-wood,

Bothered Bonnets-

Homeless Heads,

Breeze bent bowler-

Motionless men.

 

"God is art, since we can't form him in marble, or smear him on canvas, we paint him 
as the ocean, as cloud-air, both flora and fauna, and most importantly in our 
selves". Dogma drags down drooping doors: dripping mouths, students torrid in 
tantric trance, minds elsewhere. Bethany's brain is buried in the bestial sands: 
Cyclicide.

 

Oh ancient town,

forever replicated,

no memoir shall remain,

of days undecimated.

 

1836,

is all but mixed,

in the minds eye,

where chaos is free,

and order bound,

to sight,smell,touch,

and sound.


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A Whiff of Canterbury Tails

85
 Feedback comes to those who apply and post and expect to receive the same 
when you place a silver dollar in your mouth you scratch it with your teeth to see if 
it is real a man bites down upon it and then looks and frowns or looks and 
smiles upon the quarter he has found not silver or even golden but just metal of 
some kind its zinc and copper mixes made in Betty Crocker's Kitchens. She has 
a tray of circles all lain out upon her divine divan the tails side up for luck she got 
this from the JESUS man who tossed his penny in an arc and tried to hit a mark 
a line drawn in the sand and made his feet go march to live a different plan a 
lifetime being mended his only love he found she makes the things he feels 
inside brand new. She stirs her better batter up with a long and spindly spatula 
she marks each coin with edges with the cheese garter greater. She takes the 
grater to the table and turns each coin by hand she makes four of them for every 
dollar in this land. They asked her who is on the image of the coin she laughed 
and dimpled smiling she said it must be Dollar Bill.  The George Washington 
Dollar is the image used for the quarter he gets to be on two. When yew become 
the President Of America you can be their two. She stamps the quartered dollars 
on the side that just says heads with the handy dandy stamper set she got from 
her Uncle Jed for Christmas Past. She turns the coins at last and makes the tails 
with her old eagle eye she uses her new leather set to scritch and scratch the 
bird the lines formed from habit of making millions in a set in just one day she 
filled the Island of Manhattan with 24 additional sets they said they needed them 
to buy Manhattan again the previous treaty had run out from the statue of 
limitations set back in Washington against the law must be obeyed by every 
man. When eye am making a bus ride and eye find a lot of pennies eye ignore 
them when eye find a quarter eye do a little more than dance in place eye jig eye 
jog eye trip on every log in my haste to find three more it costs one dollar just to 
Board the Tran. Betty declined to speak just to the press for she is very shy she 
said she knoes now who the image is on the flip side of her coin and eye did not 
keep a dry eye when she smiled at me and said without a tremor or a miss it is 
Washington, D. C. 


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NUMBERED SCENT (Ohduhkellee)

A mothers gift ,

Generally at Christmas .

Easiest option which I hope she will like .




( Eau De Kelly)  Fragrance for older ladies , who do remember ...


I have just "invented "this new form of poetry . 

As you can see it is the 4~7~11 .

First line has 4 syllables , next 7 and the last has 11 .

And , if you think it stinks......... yes it probably does......


All rights are reserved ( and a few lefts).


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MY BIG NEW FRIEND

Here you are again.
Hi, HELLO, friend.
What is the news ?
Short and like a fuse.
Only love to send.
Death, rape, crime and offend.
What again was your name ?
Just call me - "INSANE".
A wayward brother of CAIN.
Tell me more bliss.
My girlfriend gave me a kiss.
What in the world do you miss ?
*A moment of peace and the snake hiss*

2006 from Scribble Club.com ?????
search: POEWHIT

JESUS SAVES.


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Politically Correct Nursery Rhyme

HEADLINES FLASHING!  

NEWS CASTS BLARING!
 
 
     Sparrow found guilty of killing Cock Robin with his little bow and 
arrow!!!!!!!!!!!!!    Judge to announce sentence!!!
 
   
   "Since you admit killing Cock Robin, I sentence you to twenty years for 
poaching.  Officer take this prisoner away."
 
 
HEADLINES FLASHING!  

NEWS CASTS BLARING!
 
 

THE SPARROW HAS FLOWN THE  COOP! 


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Fallen Rogue......entry into contest, Act 1 Scene 1

     He sits and mourns and weeps within the Willow trees.  A sodden forlorn form, 
alone in his own company.  bemoaning fate as destiny's joke.  While keeping in his 
cups.  An addled mind won't show the truth of how he was taken in by a trollop.  
Immune he thought his senses be to the wiles of a womens ways.  For was he not the 
one who always had his heart intact at the end of the day?  
     But sly as night her temptations were.  With each smile and bat of an eye.  Her 
gowns were designed to tease a glimpse.  Of what lay beneath when she disrobed at 
night.  She coyly watched from behind her fan as he went slowly insane.  With a need 
to kiss her red rose lips an add her to his fame.  He bet all the men at his Club that 
he'd have her in a fortnight.  They gladly took his wager, cheering on that she'd put up 
a fight.
     He took her riding in Hyde Park and to the theaters and brunch.  Presented her with 
diamond pins, ruby eardrops, necklaces and such.  She played the game so cunningly 
with smiles and gentle touches.  Unspoken promises of passionate nights.  She had him 
in her clutches.  Then came the night that she gave in.  Not once did he think of bets 
while in her bed.  No, the mighty Rogue was well and trapped.  His heart new it was love 
before his head.
     He lied to his chums and paid dearly.  For he could not publicize it so.  he loved the 
woman more than money.  His ego he let take a heavy blow.  He lavished his first and 
only fiance with all she could ever want.  Money to buy her wedding trousseau and a 
home on West Hillary Blunt.
     It was a sad day for all mankind when he stood alone at the alter.  She was already 
half way to Paris, France.  His new found faith in love began to falter.  How could he, 
The Rogue Supreme, have fallen when he should have been dallying?  He was tempted 
by fates first taste of trust.  Brought low by loves sweet calling\center>


"Act one Scene one" contest
Placement: 4th place


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American Scream - The Bill Hicks Story

Bill beat them to death. Verbose and belligerent, banal and brilliant, Hicks would beat
you with a joke until you weren’t sure it was funny any more. But you’d still laugh.
Advertising advocates he indicated, would be best dealt with through suicide. Like
lemmings, but really jumping.

Clearly he can’t have so concisely come down on those poor cretins alone. Blasting and
berating the bourgeoisie, leaving no stone unturned. Advocating erogenous interaction and
nature’s narcotics never felt so fresh.

He cut a legendary figure, shining in mono on the stage, an anti-hero in the spotlight,
questioning the questionable and querying great quandaries for our bite-sized attention
spans. All joking asides and jeering anecdotes. The great, the goat, Gods and grass
gripped us throughout. 

In his own immortal words, life is just a ride. Rails and loops, dips and troughs. Thrills
and chills. 

Bill’s the ticket inspector. Taking names and kicking ass. 


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Riddles and Fiddles

Ya, Shar, there are still open ones- will update later and add a new one.
Lilacs- we had a ton in our yard- on Mother's day me and my brother would
go down to the corner and sell bunches for 50 cents.  A good deal, and a fortune 
for us.  Lotsa' time for title search! PS- my friend John and I spoke earlier this 
morn, and I asked him to e-mail me copies of my TV Guises.  Easily the funniest 
and most creative thing I ever did.  From the seventies- one each year for my 
father for his birthday.  My originals somewhere in storage.  They will be E-mailed 
to me, with cc to you... I even did the ads and columns.  They were long a family 
favorite.  I was lookin' at 70's TV Guides as I did them, so the shows are so 
dated.. there are quite a few.  We should have them in a day or two.  I wouldn't 
know how, or even if, they could be ever communicated in this medium.  Got 
some semi- good news a few minutes ago...will talk to ya later.  Have a good day!
Love, Tom...


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Please Note

Please email all challenge response to Quasarttt228@aol.com, as well as 
posting,  thanks


Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Careful Dissemination of Funds

I hear their idle chatter and wish that sound was optional.
A box checked in a menu, a simple click and forget.

The rapid dilation of my pupils brings me back.
Back to hypnotic aisles of temptation and necessity. A selection of the finest they say.

Right there see, on the cardboard, next to charts and columns of calories and strange
numbers I’d sooner forget.
But buy one get one free still gets me every time.

I stare intently at the dancing numbers until the man with the tie moves away.

Glossy pages shine brighter than the fruit racks they mirror,
Competing for importance in my wallet and my life

The magpie wins and the bananas will wait.

Half the magazines hawk five a day in rounded sans serif, bold against the background of a
chef’s haircut.

Maxims of bizarre cosmopolitan playboys and hustlers marked up at 3.99. Landscapes of
polished flesh glow beneath the loving airbrush of the paycheck. Competing for nuts at the
zoo.
A vanity fair for the hollow, shining in the fading light of a red top sunset.
Paraphrased blogs and condensed morsels of crude celebrity nudes for the I-Generation and
the remnants of New Labour and Thatcher’s Britain.

Anglers, caravans and 50 cent, half the demographic, half the price. Count me out.
I finger a few and find no real desire. The Internet offers this bilge up for free. 
They’d all be nude and crapping on each other.
The great silicon toilet of humanity

Past freezers of long dead prisoners, pulped to perfection. Pigs in tubes and flat cow
concoctions.
Pancakes of vomit and fish dishes I won’t ever try. No time for it.
Frankenstein's monster behind glass slides.
Packets of sugar in various disguises. Cereal and chocolate, soft drinks and sauce dips.

Lattes and ladles, loofahs and loaves. The prattle returns through the shelving
I turn around the curries and there is the tie. Talking sport and hard drinking, women and
the weather. Looks me in the eye.

I turn before any interaction and feign interest in something, a scouring pad. Intricately
woven metal coils waste major concentration and he’s gone. Box checked, minimize and move on.

Everything shines in this weird three-quarter light, hypnotic. Confusing. Conscious of the
bottles ahead that I can’t ever touch. Seedy and appealing, puerile and appalling.
Something for everyone. 

And nothing for me.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Stitches

To those of you who showed concern, thanks, but it was merely an attempt at 
humor; how some would be glad to shut me up....thanks again, tom


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Just One Of Those Days Part 1

One day Homer Hawk was sitting on a gnarled fence post.  He was hungry.  He 
was tired of the usual fare, mashed rabbit, pureed gopher and scrambled 
armadillo.  He wanted something of substance, something fresh.  Maybe he was 
stewing too much but he was craving something different.  A fricassee might just 
be the answer to his problem.  He was beginning to get desperate.  He flapped 
his wings, gave a squawk and took to the air.
 
As he circled he kept a close eye out for his supper.  Behind Farmer Brown's 
house he saw Sammy Squirrel.  Sammy saw him and quickly dove under a rock 
and pulled his tail in after him.  Lucky for Sammy, Homer was not in the mood for 
squirrel.  
 
He flew on and saw Perry Prairie Dog hopping up and down on his mound and 
suddenly he disappeared down his hole.  Steven Skunk wobbled out from under 
the mulberry tree and flipped his tail up in the air as a warning to Homer.  Steven 
had no worry because Homer certainly wasn't desperate enough to attack him.
 
Marty Mouse scurried across the driveway and under the barn door.  No fear 
Marty, Homer was hungrier than one little bitty mouse.  No, not even Slinky snake 
needed to worry.  Homer wanted something different.  But what?  He flew on and 
on.
 
"What is wrong with me?" he asked.  "Why does it seem so hard to find 
something to eat tonight?"  And on he flew.
 
He saw an elk here and a deer there.  He even saw a newly squashed bunny on 
the road and still he flew on.  "Will I ever find my supper?"  he squawked.
 
Deciding he needed some professional help, he flew to the giant Oak Tree 
where Oscar Owl lived.  Oscar was just waking from his nap as Homer landed 
on the limb close by.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

I Speak In Tongues!! (yes, true!)

When I worked, selling furniture, much expensive, as a Store Manager/Salesman-
(really, the "Manager" title was euphemistic)...
It was easy to get bored....
You can sit in the showroom
for some hours,
And see no one at all...
So when some poor person
did come in...
I tended to want to 
compensate....
Not for the customer,
But, for me....

I had over time
developed a talent....
To speak in accents a'plenty
No one would know
just what to expect....
To one, I might be 
cockney English
to another a stiff
old German
or a Swede,
Indian,
Jackie Mason style Jewish,
Oh Indian was a favorite
of many... but I did more...
An upper-class
English Lord...
a Brooklynese bable,
a southern drawl...
oh... so many more...

Now sometimes
I'd change from one
to another
in the same conversation'
as it progressed;
whether he bought or not
to me secondary
I had to have my fun!!

Sometimes a customer
would come back
on a later day...
looking for that
Australian guy...
who had helped
them some days before...

I made many many people
laugh, many many a time
I had many other crazy
things I did
You come into
my store,
you won't be bored
nor pressured...
one thing you can be assured.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Two Important Things Never to Forget

Each day we face many mental perils, have to make many important decisions, 
like what color socks to wear.  Some things must take priority, however, and it's 
important to keep them in mind.  The first is to be comfortable with yourself; you 
may not be perfect, but, darn, who is?  Be happy with yourself if you can truely say 
I did not intentionally hurt anyone today.  There's more than enough bad people 
out there to do that for you.  So pat yourself on the back for a day of sainthood!
The second thing is....uh...the second thing is....um...is...shoot, I don't remember!


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Cream Tortellini

Last night I found a sentence in your bed, just lying there between smiles and sweat.
And I picked it up and said: Hey Baby, let’s get more of those! But then you rose from the
bed and so on and shouted: No way! But what does it say? Oh Honey, you know I can’t tell
you that! But it’s got the I, the L and the Y words in it. And then you started talking
about buildings. Like if you had an ugly one just opposite a beautiful one, you would
prefer to live in the ugly one, so that you could look out on the beautiful one. And not
the other way around. And then you said that if love was Cream Tortellini you would prefer
kebab. Cause it’s easier to get hold of if you come home late at night – perhaps a little
tipsy – but you don’t have to if you don’t want to, and Kebab isn’t as fattening and that
you aren’t that keen on pasta anyway.


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Hot Chocolate

   
 
    A neighbor returned home early from a vacation in Switzerland.  When asked 
about his trip he seemed a little hesitant to talk about it.  Finally he shrugged his 
shoulders and said, "I found it rather an unfriendly place."
 
    Puzzled about such a statement I asked why?
 
    "The first evening in Geneva I asked for a cup of hot chocolate and they kicked 
me out of the establishment. 'Sir we'll have none of that in here,' he told me."
 
       "The next morning I decided to eat at the hotel where I was staying and the 
same thing happened.  Only this time they kicked me out bag and baggage and 
told me not to come back.  I found a rooming house and spent the night there.  
The next morning the same thing happened when I asked for a cup of hot 
chocolate."
 
        "Soon my presence was known all over town and I couldn't get another 
room.  So I had to come home early.  It was as though I had a bad reputation or 
something."
 
      I was totally shocked.  How could such a straight laced religious man cause 
such an up roar?  And this was so out of character for the things I had heard 
about the Swiss people.
 
       "If you ever go to that country don't order the Hot Chocolate.  It must be taboo 
to serve it."
 
     How could a simple cup of Hot Chocolate cause such a commotion?
 
      
     "Are you sure it was the HOT CHOCOLATE that caused the problem?"
 
      "Of Coures it was.  I'd go into a restaurant and ask for an extra ' HOT SWISS 
MISS ' and they'd throw me out."
 
       
 
 
Gotcha__ Didn't I?     


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Last Chance Quiz

The challenge ends at midnight, tonight,
New york time

The questions, again:

1)What is the significance of "The Mystic Knights Of the Sea"

2) What is the significance of the following: Up, Down,Top, Bottom, Strange,
Charmed.....

1st prize- a tom bell autographed poetry book
2nd prize- not getting a tom bell poetry book
GRAND PRIZE!!!!-Banning tom bell from this site forever, if you so wish

The decisions of the judge (me!) will be final,  well at least for a week.....


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Just One Of Those Days Part 2

 
"Hello Oscar," he squawked.
"What brings you over this way?" Oscar asked.

"I'm having a terrible time finding my supper," blurted out the hungry hawk.

"I can't believe you can't find anything for your meal," replied the old owl.  "I know 
there usually is quite an array on the road.  Once in a while I even cheat and find 
all I want to eat.  There is usually a pretty good assortment also.  Why one day I 
even found a fried lizzard.  My, he sure was tasty,"  he volunteered.
 
"I found lots of stuff on the road and plenty to choose from around the country but 
I am looking for something special.  I spent the last hour circling Farmer Brown's 
chicken yard.  It seems all I want is chicken.  Oscar, what is wrong with me?  Can 
you help me?  Please, I know there must be something drastically wrong with 
me."
 
Oscar flapped his wings and danced up and down on the branch doing his 
evening exercises.  When he finished he blinked his big bright eyes and looked 
Homer square in the eye.  "I can't find anything wrong with you."
 
Homer was almost frantic.  How could Oscar tell him there was nothing wrong 
with him.  Homer was beating his wings up and down and squawking his head 
off.
 
"How can you tell me there is nothing wrong?" he squawked again.
 
"Calm down Homer, don't grouse so.  There's nothing wrong with you.  As far as I 
can tell, you are just in a FOWL mood tonight." 


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Toast of the Town

in this small village,
we have but one diner
I've sampled their menu before
and have but one complaint
the toast they serve with breakfast
seems like it came from bread
baked at the time of Ramses II


Details | Prose Poetry | |

hello omar

thanks omar; re spelling; i'm orig. from brooklyn; not only are we expected to 
spell everything wrong, we can't even talk the king's english...by the way...who is 
our king these days?  does he speak english?  LOL-  thanks, and what'cha think 
of Forbidden Planet?  sorry to use this medium (instead of well-done?), but you 
left no email address.  thanks for the comments, Soup Forever!!!!! Tom


Details | Prose Poetry | |

911

                          
"911, what is the emergency?"

"Police here. An accident at The Hill.  Jack was hurt.  Send the EMS immediately."

"EMS. May I help you?"

"911 here. There was an accident at The Hill.  A man injured."

"EMS here. How bad was he hurt?

"911 here.  I'll check with the police."

"911 here. Police,  how bad was he hurt?"

"Police here. All I could get out of Jill  was he fell down and broke his crown.  I 
didn't know we had Kings in this country."

"911.  EMS here at the scene of the accident.  There is no one here.  Did the man 
that called in give any more details?"

"911, here.  No I'll check with the police, EMS."

"911 here.  The police report they had a call reporting Dame Dodd was seen 
practicing medicine without a license.  They arrested her.  Seems she was 
applying vinegar and brown paper to the head of someone that fell down and 
broke his crown.  Sorry I couldn't be of any more help, EMS.   911 out."


Details | Prose Poetry | |

PART TWO OF 30 Fabel

FABELTHIRTY part two

Thank you for verifying your email address on Bebo. 

Add more friends by copying and pasting the wording below and send to your 
friends and family: Oh woe tis only mee the FAN from Desert Landed Shippe. 
Your account is currently inactive, the administrator of the board will 
need to activate it before you can log in. You will receive another 
email when this has occurred. Oh JOYOUS BLISS. 
JIM Carrey is almost mine again.? No do not go there eye meant in a FAN CLUB 
NORMAL way? 
Do not SHOOT Bruce Wayne or He won't LEARN nothin'. 

Quote the RIDDLER make a play try to find a fan club today but realize important 
people pay lawyers and secretaries plenty beans to filter out messages like 
these. No PORN eye understand but POEMS listen to the band and emails need 
to be on hand for all celebrites. Just now eye found out that eye did not make 
another poem with the CARREY as the central focus but dear ewe reader will 
agree the Number 23 was made BEFORE the movie. 
What DE JE VUE for ewe. 



Details | Prose Poetry | |

FabelThirty

 FabelThirty 
FabelThirty 
 
Jim Carrey Email 
Filter Poetry 
 
Poems is Filtered 
Fan Club Is Full 
TOO many Millions 
 
Eye finally got to talk to JIM Carrey today and he told me why he cannot read my 
poetry. He explained it like a man. There is too many fans. There is too many 
emails. “Eye “MISTER Carrey to yew” make filters for my fan club messages the 
porn is the first one.” Okay my gentile reader ewe begin to see now eh? Where 
this one is going? 
JCFC(jimcarreyfanclub)Filter One : NO PORN. 
FILTER TWO: NO POETRY 
FILTER THREE: NO EMAIL 
Oh why oh woe is me eye wanted JIM to read the mee? Oh pain now from 
headache and anxiety Your email address has NOT been verified. Please 
click 'Click to verify' next to your email address below or change your email 
address to a valid one. 
Oh why cannot we just have his home address a house boat eye suppose in 
some woman's swimming place? Eye was a CIA spook before eye got religion 
the love replaces hate so now eye want just to relate to all the STARS in 
Hollywooded glens and pools of swimming fans. Eye had a picture ready to 
download to the fanclub when the email did not come eye lost all hope that HE 
was really there and sure enough it was a band called Carrey Band. This is just 
a fanclub not Jim Carrey. AND that is how this FABEL was just born. 
Jim Carrey Online 
Comprehensive Jim Carrey fan site features news, pictures, movie details, audio 
and video clips, ... Links. Images. Video Clips. Sound Clips. Wallpapers ... 
www.jimcarreyonline.com - 16k - Cached 
Charles Hice 
 Number 23 

Number 23 
     
  Waiting in a line for food. 
Am I in a prison or a diner. 
Drinking soda and now water. 
I am sitting in a recliner, 
wishing that i could get up and 
jump into the sink, 
to drink a pail of water. 
I am just a want too. 
I am full of meat. 
Waiting in a line for food. 
Wanting bread but eating meat. 
A poor man and his daughter. 
I am number twenty three. 

Charles Hice 
http://www.newline.com/properties/number23the.html 
Actual Trailer to the movie this is my tribute JIM Carrey please email me. 
IMPORTANT: Please click on the link below to verify this email address: 
OH forever JOY the RIDDLER is mine at last. 
Charles Hice 




Details | Prose Poetry | |

Ever Do This?

I know I'm probably crazy...but tell me if you will....have you ever done this?
Walk into a room, and wonder why you did?  What was your intention, what were 
you looking for?  It's a bit scary...are you losing your last brain cells?
Speak to someone you've known, or lived with, for many, many years...and 
struggle to remember their name?  Read a book, mind wandering, and you find 
yourself reading the same page thirty times because you're not quite there?  I'm 
thinking of putting a chalkboard around my neck, with memos to myself.  But 
knowing how weird I am, I suppose I'll forget how to read.  So it goes.......


Details | Prose Poetry | |

Challenge Four

100 words or less, to rhyme, humor a plus..Feb. ten. Good Luck- email copy to 
Quasarttt228@aol.com, and post, please- winner gets a tom Bell Cookbook!

Incorporate;
Brushing the velvety hair of the bald midget
Olives on the run
Hidden Puppy, Crouching pooper
New set of blinds
Ketchup
Gumballs on the bar
rock music in Chinese
Wally Eagle, ootty-booty-li-li
Mercedes Benz
Slip of the forked snake tongue

Good Luck!!